


Impossible

by dementorsatemysoup



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Bad Parenting, Bipolar Disorder, Canon Dialogue, Canon deaths, Derogatory Language, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forced Marriage, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Violence, implied rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 20:21:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1482646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dementorsatemysoup/pseuds/dementorsatemysoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Don't fucking tell me what's impossible" --Mickey Milkovich</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impossible

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a Mickey centric fic and sorta morphed into a Gallavich centric story. Um, I tried to follow canon as best as I could, but I know the show doesn't have a set timeline so I probably messed up somewhere. Um, I also labelled it as Mature because of some of the subject matter (even though I don't go into any details). It's my first M-rating story, so I don't know how it'll go yet.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading. Sorry it's so long, the story got away from me, and leave me a comment if you can.
> 
> All characters are owned by the creator of Shameless and not me.
> 
> Bye!!
> 
> P.S. If you guys find something I didn't tag and need me to tag it let me know... I wasn't quite sure how to tag this one.

Mickey had been born two months and six days before his due date. The doctors hadn’t been too optimistic about his chances of survival, not exactly something a seventeen year old girl needed to hear hours after giving birth, but since Terry had been doing another stint in prison, Mickey’s mother had to handle everything on her own. Mickey figured she went to his uncle and aunt a few times, at the very least to have them watch his brothers for her, but, according to Jamie, she spent most of her time at the Alibi instead of at the hospital with her dying son. It probably surprised the fuck out of her when Mickey pulled through.

Mandy had been born exactly a year and a half after Mickey, and their mother died three months afterwards, her body found under the L, more drugs in her system than a drug mule crossing the border. Neither Mickey nor Mandy ever knew their mother, and the only photo they ever saw of her had been one Joey kept in his sock drawer. That is until Terry found it and burned it in their backyard. Mickey would deny it up and down if anyone asked, but he cried as he watched the last remains of his mother burn, but the tears immediately stopped when Terry grabbed his face and snarled, “Only pussies cry. Knock it off.”

*

Mickey had been five when he had his first fight. It had been against Marty Lewis because he called Mandy’s thrift store dress ugly and pushed her in the mud. Marty was nearly twice Mickey’s size, should have been nearly impossible for Mickey to defeat, but Tony didn’t call his youngest brother scrappy for nothing.

Marty barely got two punches in before Mickey knocked down with a surprise groin kick, pounced on him, and started punching him in the face. It took both Jamie and Tony to pull him off of Marty, blood pouring from the smaller boy’s nose, the f-word flying from his mouth like poisoned daggers.

Marty dragged himself to his feet, shaking, holding his bloody eye, and spat, “That was a fucking pussy move, Milkovich.” He then ran away when Tony took a threatening step towards him. Mandy wouldn’t talk to Mickey afterwards, but Jaime gave him a sip of beer to celebrate his victory.

*

Mickey had been seven when he first saw Ian Gallagher during one of their little league games. It had been sheer luck that Mickey had even gotten on the team, Tony making it almost impossible for any of the Milkoviches to try out after he hit Tristan Gray in the head with a bat.

About mid-way through their first game, while Mickey played first base, waiting for the stupid hitter to hit the fucking ball, he noticed a redheaded, freckled faced boy looking his way from second base. He glared, giving the kid his best impression of Terry’s scary face, but the kid only smiled and waved.

No one ever ignored the Milkovich stare, Mickey having seen Jamie make a group of fifth graders run away after flashing it, but this kid was either very stupid or just not afraid of Mickey. He looked away from the kid, his eyes going skyward, suddenly needing to whiz. He glanced over at the kid again, who kept staring at him, a small smirk on his face.

Mickey knew the game wasn’t going to stop because he had to take a piss, and clearly that redheaded kid didn’t know who he was messing with (and later he’d realize he wanted to impress the kid), so he pulled down his pants and pissed all over first base.

“Milkovich!” the coach screamed from the dugout. “Get the fuck off the field!” Mickey pulled his pants back up, a little embarrassed, but as he stormed off the field, he glanced over his shoulder, the redhead laughing behind his hand. He’d find out years later that that had been Ian.

*

Mickey wouldn’t actually meet Ian Gallagher until he turned ten. He already knew Lip, having been in the same kindergarten and third grade classes with the kid, and he spotted Fiona Gallagher picking her brothers up from school every day, so he had been well aware of the Gallaghers. Plus Mandy spent most of her fucking time talking about Ian Gallagher like he was the second coming of Christ or whatever, so it wasn’t like Mickey had never heard the redhead’s name.

Mickey had been walking home from the movie theater, having snuck in to see some piece of shit movie he didn’t even remember wanting to see, when he heard yelling coming from the playground. Curious, Mickey followed the yelling, stopping when he spotted a small figure running through the swings, holding a stick.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Mickey asked causing the kid to stop.

He turned to face him, his face looking vaguely familiar, and said, “Playing army.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s fun,” the kid replied moving towards Mickey. “One day I’m gonna join the army, become a real hero. Not be like my stupid dad.”

“Who’s your dad?” Mickey wasn’t even sure why he asked, he didn’t even care, but it seemed almost _easy_ to talk to this stupid kid. Plus, Mickey didn’t want him to go away yet.

“Frank,” the kid grumbled kicking a rock with his ratty shoe.

“Gallagher?” Everyone had heard of Frank Gallagher. He’d tried to scam more kids and homeless out of what little money they had with fake drugs and scams. Mickey even heard his dad bitching about how Frank Gallagher managed to get disability again for some stupid ‘work related’ accident. Mickey wasn’t quite sure what disability was, but it seemed like Frank didn’t deserve it.

“Yeah,” the kid replied glumly, scratching his nose. “So, who’s your dad?”

Mickey almost didn’t answer him, knowing it’s damn near impossible to make any friends when he shared DNA, let alone a last name, with Terry Milkovich, but he figured if the kid insulted his family he could just kick his ass, “Terry.”

“Milkovich?” the kid’s eyes widened when Mickey nodded. But he blew out a breath and whispered, “Did he really fight a bear?”

“What?”

“My brother Lip said he fought a bear,” the kid explained kicking another rock.

“He didn’t…” Mickey trailed off, shaking his head. “I’m Mickey.”

“I’m Ian.” Ian held up his stick and asked, “You wanna play army with me?”

Mickey nearly said no, that he was too old to play stupid games, but again he didn’t want the kid to go away. So, he grabbed a nearby stick and said, “Fine, but we’re fighting cyborgs.”

“Okay,” Ian replied smiling, nodding his head, running away from Mickey, calling over his shoulder, “Keep up Private Milkovich, we can’t stand around all day.”

“Fuck off, Gallagher,” Mickey called back but quickly chased after the kid.

*

Mickey had been around twelve when he started looking at the other boys differently. He didn’t quite understand the feelings he’d been having at the time, but they always left him with a bubbling pit of fear in his stomach, especially if Terry were to ever find out. So, he suppressed these feelings or whatever, taking out his frustration on anyone who acted slightly different than what he perceived to be normal.

It wasn’t until he turned thirteen, and saw Kyle Quinn coming out of the shower after gym, that he realized what was going on, and he felt sick to his stomach. It wasn’t possible, he couldn’t be a  _fag_ _,_ Terry would fucking kill him. To make himself feel better, Mickey waited until Kyle left school that day and beat the shit out of behind The Kash n’ Grab. To celebrate his victory, he swiped a pack of gum and a candy bar from the store.

As his unwanted feelings grew, Mickey started having sex with any girl who’d have him, which mostly meant the fat chicks like Angie Zago (plus it didn’t hurt that Angie would fuck anyone with a dick). It was his shitty attempt at pretending nothing was remotely wrong with him, but he couldn’t quite control the way his eyes would stray if a guy walked past him or the way his mind wandered to someone with less v and more d while Angie went down on him.

There was one person in particular he couldn’t quite get out of his mind. A freckled faced redhead kept popping up more frequently than anyone else, and Mickey made a great effort to stay away from Ian Gallagher.

*

He had been fifteen when Terry beat him so badly, he awoke in the hospital three days later to Mandy hovering over him, looking more worried than he’d ever seen her. It had all been because Mickey walked in on his father doing something that he really shouldn’t be doing to Mandy. He had tried to pull a very drunk Terry off his sister, but his father hauled off and punched him in the head. That punch followed probably a dozen more and a boot to the temple, leaving Mickey barely breathing on Mandy’s bedroom floor.

Mandy would later tell him that she waited until Terry passed out before she and Iggy dragged Mickey out of the house and to the nearest free clinic. The doctor had taken one look at Mickey and immediately had him admitted to the hospital. The doctor had been certain he wouldn’t wake up.

Social Services somehow managed to get called, even after Mandy and Iggy swore Mickey had fallen off his dirt bike, and they had questioned the three Milkoviches. Everything had been a bit scrambled, so Mickey was actually no help, but Mandy and Iggy stuck to the dirt bike story.

Eventually Terry showed up, and the shit storm that followed ended with Terry hauled off in cuffs and Terry’s aunt agreeing to take Mandy and Mickey for a few days. Mickey’s memory slowly returned, but he and Mandy never talked about what Terry had been trying to do, and Mickey hated himself for letting that even happen under his nose.

*

He had been nearly seventeen when Mandy came home crying, claiming that Ian Gallagher had tried to rape her. Mickey flashed back to the night his father had beaten him up, remembering how he couldn’t help Mandy then, and he saw red.

He gathered Jaime and Joey, and they took a trip to The Kash n’ Grab, after Mandy told them where Ian worked. A part of Mickey couldn’t quite believe that Ian Gallagher would do that to his sister, but that part didn’t matter because that piece of shit touched Mandy. He had to die.

“IAN GALLAGHER!!” He yelled the moment he stepped into The Kash n’ Grab, knowing the stupid asshole could hear him, and he saw that piece of trash already running towards the back. He chased after the dead man, already planning where to hide his fucking body, but Ian had locked the store room door. Then that asshole who worked the counter, whatever the fuck his name was, told him and his brothers about the back door.

The back door didn’t exist, but it couldn’t be _that_ hard to track the shithead down. He lived three minutes from Mickey’s house. They went to the same goddamn school. Mickey knew where the fuck he worked. Sooner or later, he’d run into Ian.

Eventually, after Lip took a beating for his brother, Mandy claimed that she had lied. That Ian was now her boyfriend and Mickey had to leave him alone. Something didn’t set well with Mickey, hearing that Ian was now his sister’s boyfriend, and it had nothing to do with Mandy’s past claims about the redhead.

*

Hooking up with Ian fucking Gallagher had never been a part of Mickey’s plan. He had planned to ignore the fact that he preferred dick over pussy, pretend he enjoyed having sex with Angie and all the other girls like her, and maybe end up shivved in prison or whatever, but that fucking redhead had to break into his house for the stupid gun he stole from whats-his-face from the Kash n’ Grab. Fighting with Gallagher had been hot as fuck, and adrenaline fueled sex followed.

The fact that Terry walked in mere moments after it happened left Mickey’s heart slamming against his chest. He thought for sure he was dead, but a half asleep, hungover Terry could miss a fucking tornado swirling around him, so that’s probably the only thing that spared his and Ian’s lives.

Mickey handed over the gun, Gallagher put up a helluva fight, he fucking deserved it, but then the shithead tried to give Mickey a kiss. That wasn’t fucking happening.

“Kiss me and I’ll cut your fucking tongue out,” Mickey snarled and he watched Ian leave, listening closely so the shithead didn’t tell anyone what they had just done. To Mickey’s surprise-or maybe he was just surprised that he wasn’t surprised-Ian didn’t say a word to Mandy.

 

Mickey probably should have nipped the whole ‘letting Ian fuck him’ thing in the butt a long time ago, but for once Mickey was doing something he enjoyed, not what was expected of him, and he just couldn’t let that go yet. It became worse when he started actually _liking_ Ian. To the point where he willingly went to The Kash n’ Grab because Ian fucking _needed_ him.

Having the douche behind the counter find them had been the last thing on Mickey’s mind, so when Mr. What-His-Face found them, Mickey hightailed it out of there like the hounds of hell were after him. He probably shouldn’t have gone back, but he had to make sure that shithead didn’t say anything.

Getting shot over a fucking snickers bar fucking sucked. Later he’d find out that it wasn’t just the snickers bar, and maybe he knew all along, but he was too busy fucking bleeding to really register what had been going on with that psycho behind the counter.

Mickey had never been shot. He’d been stabbed once, by Iggy. It hadn’t been deep enough to do much damage, but he still had to sit through Joey’s shitty stitch work. He’d also been beaten up tons of times, mostly from Terry, so he wasn’t a stranger to pain. But getting shot didn’t nearly come close to Iggy’s blunt pocket knife. And the fact that it earned him a trip to juvie, while the fucktard who shot him probably got a fucking parade thrown for him, didn’t exactly help matters.

It wasn’t like Mickey had never been to juvie, it’s almost impossible for a Milkovich to not go at least once (Mandy possibly being the only one who hadn’t), so Mickey wasn’t a stranger to the process. It still sucked that his shooter hadn’t even been fined… or shot to death by his brothers.

Ian visiting made things less bad, but when he tried that gay shit, like putting his hand on the glass, Mickey wanted to punch him in the head. He really wanted to live through his juvie stint, not end up on the receiving end of some assholes toothbrush shiv. If he ended up dying, he wouldn’t be able to continue the whole ‘getting fucked by Ian’ thing. And Mickey would never admit it aloud, but he kinda liked that part of his whatever with Ian.

*

Fucking at the ball field had been something Mickey had been toying with since he started his whatever with Ian. Show that piece of shit baseball coach what happened when a Milkovich got kicked off the team. Finding out that that freckled redheaded boy had been Ian left Mickey a little surprised, but he sure as shit didn’t tell Ian he only pissed on first base to impress the stupid kid.

Instead they fucked again, and it felt so damn good to have Ian moving against him. He had actually missed Ian, but that’s the last thing he’d ever admit to, so to have Ian suggest they work together, at the same fucking place he had gotten shot…

Well it was a job.

*

Frank fucking Gallagher. If Mickey never heard that name again it would be too soon. He’s just a menace to the town, worse than the Milkovich boys, so why wouldn’t Ian just let the motherfucker die? It’d make everyone’s lives so much simpler.

Frank knew, Frank could let something slip, Terry could find out, Mickey could die, Frank needed to die. It was _that_ fucking simple. So why was he standing in the middle of the sidewalk, watching fucking Frank walk away, not doing a goddamn thing? Because of Ian fucking Gallagher of course.

When he heard the siren, he knew he only had one option. He wondered if Mick had gotten out of juvie yet.

*

“I missed ya.” The words had slipped out before Mickey could stop them. So, when Ian questioned him, he made up some shit excuse about always being the top in juvie (even though he hadn’t had _any_ sex). Ian seemed to buy it, but if he actually dug a bit deeper, realized that Mickey hadn’t beaten that Asian kid up for being gay, but because he was a little jealous, seeing Ian fucking some other dude. That when he said ‘I missed you’ he meant “I fucking missed _you_ , douchebag.”

And maybe he lied about the ‘overcrowding’ thing. Maybe he didn’t get into any fights, kept to himself, actually read a fucking book, despite what he told Ian, and got out on good behavior just so he could see the redhead sitting next to him. But Ian didn’t need to know any of that.

*

Angie Zago wasn’t planned, most of his run-ins with Angie weren’t planned, but Ian’s brother had been hanging around, and Mickey wasn’t about to suggest he and Ian head over to that abandon building to fuck, especially in front of Lip, so he jumped on Angie.

And yeah, okay, maybe he felt a little guilty afterward, but he tried to offer Ian a chance with Angie. Angie fucked everyone, no matter the dude, and she’d happily fuck Ian. But he just went on to talk about that old geezer he had been fucking.

And maybe Mickey followed them to that Fountain place. It was a free country, he could stand outside on the sidewalk if he wanted to. It didn’t exactly help the anger pumping through his veins, but it didn’t matter. Ian was free to see whoever the fuck he wanted. Mickey couldn’t fucking stop him. He was a big boy, and if he wanted to fuck an old, wrinkly nut sack then he could fuck an old, wrinkly nut sack.

So maybe approaching them had been a very bad idea, and maybe he probably should have just walked away, but Mickey had never been known to take the easy way out. And when that old, faggot called him Ian’s boyfriend and suggested they have some sort of threesome, old man sandwich shit...

Mickey wondered when, exactly, Ian had gained fucking Teenage Mutant Ninja powers, but he couldn’t help the elation that rolled through him when Ian ended up picking Mickey over that geriatric viagroid. It felt like a fucking victory in Mickey’s books.

*

_“He isn’t afraid to kiss me_.” The words kept circling around Mickey’s head, all the way to whats-his-fucking-face’s place. “ _He isn’t afraid to kiss me_.” Mickey had never kissed anyone before, not even Angie Zago. There had been that close call when he was eight, but Ginger Reynolds had only been distracting him so her brothers could beat him up. _“He isn’t afraid to kiss me.”_

Mickey could fucking kiss Ian. It couldn’t be that hard to fucking kiss someone. And he actually liked Ian, so that’s a major plus. Plus if that old, wrinkly ball sack could do it then Mickey could too.

Ian parked the van out in front of a huge ass place, somewhere in the douchebag part of town, and rattled off some instructions before promptly telling Mickey and his cousins to leave their guns behind. They weren’t used to pulling a job without weapons, but if it was in fact just an old drunk broad then they should be fine.

Mickey followed Iggy and Ronnie Jr, stopping about mid-way to the mansion. _“He isn’t afraid to kiss me.”_

“Hey guys, I left something in the van,” he said pointing behind him and jogged back towards Ian. He glanced over his shoulder, his cousins already inside, and hopped into the van, kissing Ian. He tasted like cigarettes and toothpaste, and it had probably been the best decision of Mickey’s life.

It still didn’t stop him from flipping Ian off as he ran inside. Also, buck shots hurt, but it was worth it.

*

It took more begging than Mickey cared to admit to get Mandy to fucking leave the house. Or maybe she was just milking it, but whatever he finally had the place to himself. And of course he invited Ian over. It took a small, mental pep talk, but here they were, sitting on his couch, watching bad action movies, arguing over who’s better: Van Damme or Steven Seagal. It was actually the first real, couple-y thing they had ever done, and Mickey found he didn’t mind it as much as he thought he would.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the couch. Actually he had planned to spend all night getting fucked, but he should really learn not to make plans. He woke up around four to find himself slumped against Ian’s shoulder, the other boy’s head resting on top of his, asleep.

Mickey’s first reaction was to push Ian off, maybe wake him up with an elbow jab to the side, but instead he just relaxed and went back to sleep, feeling safer than he’d ever felt in his house.

*

Terry was never supposed to find out. That was the first rule in Mickey’s unspoken list of rules (having a sleepover had been another, but that one went out the window a long time ago). But obviously everything had to come crashing down around him. He did try to help Ian, do what he couldn’t do for Mandy, but, just like with Mandy, Terry had the upper hand.

Mickey had been pistol whipped before, twice in his nearly eighteen years, and getting a beating from Terry wasn’t new for him, but ‘the Russian’ was new. At first, Mickey actually thought his dad was hiring someone to kill him and Ian. But then a woman showed up.

“She’s gonna fuck the faggot out of you.” Like it was _that_ easy. Like Mickey hadn’t tried that before, back when he was still in complete denial about what he was, but what Terry wanted Terry usually got. So, to make sure Ian stayed alive, Mickey gave Terry what he wanted, and he felt dirty afterward, but his father let Ian go, and that’s really all that mattered…

Right?

*

“Svetlana’s pregnant,” Terry said when Mickey sat down to breakfast a few months later.

“What?” Mickey looked up from the table, still unable to look his dad in the eyes.

“I said,” Terry started slowly, quietly, leaning over the table until he was inches from Mickey’s face, his sour breath stinging the younger guy’s nose, “Svetlana’s pregnant.” He moved a half an inch closer and whispered in Mickey’s ear, “You’re gonna marry her or I’m gonna kill that redheaded faggot. Understand me?”

Mutely, Mickey nodded, no longer hungry. Terry gave him a tight lipped smile, pulling away from him, and said, almost mockingly, “Be sure to invite him though. If you want.”

*

Mickey had been eighteen when he beat up the guy he may like more than he should. He figured, if he pushed Ian enough, he’d leave Mickey. He’d go back to that old, wrinkled nut sack or someone new, someone who could actually _be_ with Ian, but he should have known it wouldn’t be that simple.

Of course Ian showed up to the wedding. Like Mickey, Ian couldn’t do things halfway either, couldn’t stick to the plan (or the made up plan that Mickey had created and watched unravel). So, he showed up, and started spouting off some shit about Mickey caring about him. And of course he fucking did, he shouldn’t but he did, and he’s feeling guilty as all hell for hurting Ian, but he can’t just renege on the wedding now. Not when it meant keeping Ian alive.

Perhaps having sex with him wasn’t the best option, but he didn’t give a flying fuck. He didn’t want Svetlana or that stupid kid, he didn’t _want_ to follow Terry’s plan. He just wanted Ian so fucking bad.

And then Ian started implying they run away or some shit and Mickey knew he couldn’t do that. Terry would find them, he knew too many people not to, and if it meant being stuck with some Russian whore for the rest of his fucking life just to ensure Ian kept breathing he’d do it over and over again.

Because Ian’s life meant more to Mickey than his own freedom.

*

Mickey watched Ian walk out the door, tried to stop him, but the words stuck in his throat. He did manage to say one word, just one, but it really didn’t _do_ much good.

“Don’t what?” Ian waited, obviously wanting Mickey to stop him, but the words were still stuck. They weren’t going to suddenly rattle free, weren’t going to give him some fucking speech to make him stay.

“Just…” Why couldn’t he just fucking _say_ something? Say anything. And then Ian walked away, and Mickey didn’t even chase after him, didn’t do a goddamn thing except sit on his fucking bed. Mandy’s standing in his doorway, hovering like some sort of insect, and Mickey’s snapping at her, needing her to go away.

“Really? That’s all you’re gonna say to him?” Mandy asked him, surprising Mickey. How in the ever loving fuck did she even find out? “You’re a fucking pussy.”

She stormed away, leaving Mickey alone, and for the first time since Terry told him crying was for pussies, he cried. Over Ian fucking Gallagher.

*

Maybe Mickey did show up to the departing buses the next day. And maybe he had a plan, a good plan, to keep Ian there, with him, and from going overseas and getting his ass pumped full of lead. But the buses had already fucking left; Mickey had missed his goddamn chance.

He sat on the curb for a while, elbows on his knees, chain smoking. He hadn’t felt this bad since he failed to stop Terry from hurting his sister.

*

Mickey’s apathetic towards Svetlana. She liked to mutter Russian under her breath, chain smoke, and complain about how much he seemed to _not_ care about their kid. And that was the thing, Mickey didn’t care. He didn’t want the fucking thing, could give a shit less if it died tomorrow, but he never said any of this aloud. Terry was always around, always listening, just waiting for Mickey to do something stupid.

The bright side about Ian leaving, he wasn’t going to turn up dead under the L because Terry had gotten a hold of him. That didn’t mean he couldn’t get shot in some ‘Stan, at some point, but according to Mandy Ian hadn’t even left basic training yet. So that was something at the very least.

Mickey pretended he didn’t care, mostly to appease Terry, but he wanted Ian to come home. He _needed_ Ian to come home. He suspected Mandy knew what was going on in his head, but he couldn’t be sure, and even if she did he’d just tell her to fuck off.

And maybe he spent more time at The Alibi than anything, drinking too much and chain smoking and trying to fish around for news about Ian. He possibly had gotten drunk a few times, and maybe Kevin had to call Mandy once or twice, but that was his business and no one else’s.

Fucking that redhead in the bathroom would forever be one of his biggest regrets. She wasn’t Ian, she could never _be_ Ian, and the fact that he was even attempting to feel something with her was fucked up on his part. He ended up crashing at the old abandon building that night, unwilling to go home, and for a few precious moments he could pretend that he was meeting Ian. Even if it was just a lie he told himself.

*

The fact that Lip Gallagher was sharing _any_ information about Ian was a fucking miracle in itself. Mickey had always suspected Ian told his brother about them, but he never had any proof until that moment, on his porch, when Lip said, “Do you need me to spell it out?”

He pretty much admitted he cared when he asked if Ian was in trouble. Did he get hurt during basic training or did something else happen? Lip told Mickey he’d let him know when he found out, and the fact that the older Gallagher boy was even willing to share any news about Ian with Mickey was a surprise. If their roles had been reversed, and Lip had been the reason Mandy took off, Mickey probably would have kicked his ass.

*

“ _Make something your problem.”_ Mandy didn’t know what the fuck she was talking about. What Ian did with his life was up to Ian. Mickey couldn’t _make_ him come home, no matter how much he wanted him to, and no amount of begging like some bitch was gonna do him much good.

But the more he thought about it, the more he missed Ian, and the more he wanted him to come home. So, he sought out Lip at the Gallaghers, needing to know where to even start looking for Ian, but the little redhead answered the door when Mickey knocked.

“Is Lip here?”

“He’s at school,” the redhead replied glumly, leaning against the door. “You’re not here to kill him or anything, right?”

“No.” Mickey didn’t want to ask Ian’s sister where to find him, but it was either Debbie Gallagher or spend an entire day looking for Lip in classrooms, so he asked, “Do you know where to find Ian?”

After that, it was the most awkward ten minutes of Mickey’s life, especially when Debbie walked him to the door, asking, “Are all families just fucked up or is it just ours?”

“Uh…” Mickey didn’t fucking know, but he had the address to where Ian worked, so he hightailed it out of there before Debbie offered to paint his nails or asked him advice on boys or some other girly shit.

*

Twenty-five fucking bucks. Twenty-five fucking bucks for some coked up lapdance from Ian. Mickey didn’t have to pay for that shit before, and he didn’t particularly feel comfortable being surrounded by old geezers trying to wrap their fingers around young cock. But Mickey paid and tried to convince Ian to go home. He knew the redhead wasn’t going to go back _for_ Mickey, but he might go home if he knew how fucked up his family had gotten. Mickey wasn’t quite sure why he tried to appeal to Ian’s human side by bringing up Frank, Ian hated Frank more than anyone, but he at least thought Liam’s health would get to him. He had to feel something for someone.

After he tried, and ultimately failed, to get Ian to come home from inside the club, Mickey lingered around outside, maybe hoping to catch Ian off guard, away from his audience of rich, white, closeted dudes just trying to get some jailbait ass before their wives expected them home.

When Ian came outside with some asshole who’d fit right in at four in the morning at Denny’s, Mickey decided to intervene, especially with how fucked up the redhead was; besides Ian had had his dick touched by enough grubby hands for one night. And seriously, would it kill the old guy to learn to run like a dude?

When Ian passed out, Mickey would have willingly carried him all the way back to his place had that SUV not shown up.

*

Ian seemed different. He seemed more wired than usual, no doubt from the remnants of the drugs still working their way through his system, but there was something else. Something Mickey couldn’t quite figure out, but it worried him so he decided he’d keep Ian at his place, keep an eye on him, maybe figure out what the fuck was going on with him.

When Svetlana told him she made Ian leave, the first thing Mickey did (after slipping out the back of The Alibi), was head to the Gallaghers’ place. It’s a long shot, but at least it was a place to start. His long shot paid off, Ian sitting on his bed scribbling in some stupid notebook, casually commenting about how “Mickey’s bride” threatened him with a hammer (something Mickey would not put past her).

The rest of the Gallagher clan showed up, appearing like fucking lemmings, and Lip gave Mickey a _look_ when Ian mentioned ‘relationship issues’ as being the reason he left. Lip needed to mind his own fucking business.

When Ian’s siblings left, and Mickey stooped to bitch level asking if Ian was going to leave again, it really shouldn’t have surprised the older boy that Ian would ask for something ridiculous. “Will you suck my dick whenever I want?”

“Fuck off.” Mickey wasn’t going to become Ian Gallagher’s bitch, he wasn’t some pathetic pussy desperate to keep his boyfriend around, but the thought of Ian leaving again left a cold, hollow pit in Mickey’s stomach. He kept reliving last December, watching Ian walk out the door, never looking back, going away again, maybe for good this time, and he heard himself mutter, “I’ll do it.”

“Do what?” It felt like a test, Ian seeing how far Mickey was willing to go to keep him around, and if he had to blow the asshole to keep him there, he’d do it.

“Don’t make me say it, asswipe.”

“Suck my dick,” Ian started a little smugly, “whenever I want.”

No one could ever say Mickey Milkovich didn’t do anything for Ian Gallagher.

*

Mickey didn’t even know why he’s at the fucking club. No, he _knew_ why, he just didn’t want to admit that he’s tired of fat, slobbering old queens putting their hands anywhere near Ian. He wanted to cut off every single finger that went anywhere near the redhead, starting with that fat fuck right there.

“If those fingers go anywhere near that cock I’m gonna break every knuckle in your hand. All fifteen of ‘em,” Mickey snarled, tightening his grip on the asshole’s wrist.

“Settle down, Rumblefish,” the drunken idiot snapped back, pulling out of Mickey’s grip. “Anyway a hand only has fourteen knuckles.” The fruitcake waved his hand doing some fucking weird head motion, his face contorting into an idiotic smug expression.

“Do you wanna fucking die?” Mickey chased the dude away wondering who the fuck was Rumblefish. And the human hand did not have…

_Fuck that guy,_ Mickey thought waving his hand, turning to see Ian standing behind him. He started talking about some stupid fucking party, and how they were invited to it. Apparently it’s ‘fun’ or whatever, and fuck that Mickey wasn’t going to some stupid fucking party just because Ian…

“What the fuck.” Mickey backed away. Ian had just tried to kiss him in public. Why the fuck would he…?

Mickey stopped, looking around the club, realizing that no one would care if he and Ian kissed. In fact he suspected most of these dudes probably fucked in the bathroom, could be fucking right now. And while he wasn’t ready to fuck in public, he could damn well kiss Ian.

And he wanted to so fucking bad. Mickey had missed Ian, more than he’d ever thought he would, and, according to Mandy, spent a good majority of the time moping around after Ian left (a crock of shit on her part), so why the fuck not? Seize the day or some shit.

Ian tasted different, like alcohol and maybe a hint of cinnamon, but at that moment Mickey didn’t care. All that he cared about were Ian’s hands on him (one resting against his back, the other cradling his head), their lips moving together, both boys wanting and needing and tasting, enjoying the fact that they were together after months of separation. Mickey gently wrapped his hand around the side of Ian’s neck, the redhead’s pulse pounding against his palm, matching pace with Mickey’s rapidly beating heart.

When they broke apart, Ian rested his forehead against Mickey’s, his fingers gently stroking his hair, and he whispered, “You taste like whiskey. I like it.” Before Mickey could respond, Ian had already released him, grabbing his hand and dragging him further into the club, calling over the music, “Lemme change and we’ll head out.”

Mickey willingly went with the younger boy, he probably would have followed him into hell, even if hell meant some stupid fucking party at some fucking wrinkly ball sack’s place.

*

Brian turned out to be younger than Mickey expected, and apparently took pictures of naked dudes. Mickey figured everyone needed a hobby, but he wondered why the guy couldn’t collect porn stamps or those playing cards with dudes’ dicks on them.

Despite Ian claiming the party would be fun, Mickey spent most of the night in the corner, drinking beer, staving off advances from some of the dudes. He mostly watched Ian, who jumped from person to person, occasionally appearing at Mickey’s side to give him another beer (which Mickey appreciated) or try to get him to dance with him (which Mickey did not do).

Around four-thirty, the party started winding down, as did Ian. Mickey figured whatever the redhead had taken had started to wear off, leaving him standing against the wall, half asleep, leaning into Mickey. Somehow they ended up on the pullout, Ian asleep the second he laid down.

Mickey wasn’t so lucky. He’d never been good at sleeping in unfamiliar surroundings, the Gallaghers' place the _only_ exception, but eventually he did go to sleep, his body facing Ian, one hand curled around the younger boy’s bicep. A part of him, no doubt a small part hidden in the deepest, darkest crevices of his mind, was probably afraid that Ian would leave again.

When Brian woke Mickey up, the younger guy very nearly punched the dude. Spending eighteen years under Terry’s roof, Mickey had grown used to getting pulled from sleep after taking a blow to the side or face. But it was only Ian’s stupid friend (or whatever) asking what he wanted for breakfast.

When Brian asked if he and Ian were together or not, Mickey took a second to think about it. What were he and Ian? Were they a couple? Were they just two dudes who hung out and also had sex? Maybe not the second one, but that still didn’t make them a couple. Did it?

They’d been together on and off for nearly three years. Mickey had found that he could barely handle life without Ian, had been staying with the dude for the past few days, and Mickey sure as shit wouldn’t make out with some random dude at a crowded club. And from what he knew about Ian, it had been pretty fricking clear the younger boy had never been very subtle about his feelings for Mickey. And just like that, Mickey had his answer.

“Together,” he replied slowly, looking away from Brian.

Mickey glanced back up, a part of him just waiting to be ridiculed, but Brian just smiled and said, “Cool. You’re a lucky dude.” As he walked away, Mickey glanced down at Ian, agreeing wholeheartedly with Brian. He really was a lucky dude.

*

Mickey wasn’t quite sure when he moved in with Ian, but he hadn’t been home in almost two weeks, crashing on the younger boy’s floor. He knew the Gallaghers weren’t stupid, they probably figured out that something was going on between him and Ian, but Mickey kept ignoring Ian every time he asked him if he wanted to sleep in his bed _with_ him.

Living with the Gallaghers was actually more relaxing than Mickey would admit. Yeah he had to deal with the tiny Gallagher waking him up by jumping on his chest. And knew for a fact that Carl did not shower _that_ much. Debbie wasn’t too bad, except she had been convinced that Mickey was now her friend and kept asking him about boy stuff (he didn’t care, but he merely nodded a lot until she left the house).

Lip and Fiona were probably the biggest problems. Between whatever had been going on between them, and their unasked questions regarding their new housemate, Mickey had actually been surprised they hadn’t kicked him out yet. And yeah, he could probably help out a bit, leave some money for all the pancakes and juice he consumed, maybe used a glass once in a while, but he had grown up with a different set of rules. Living with the Gallaghers was going to take some adjusting.

One morning Mickey woke up to Liam passed out on his chest, no doubt seeking out someone familiar to comfort him after one of his nightmares. When, exactly, Mickey had become familiar to the kid, the older boy didn’t know, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually wake the kid up. So, he just relaxed, letting Liam’s soft breathing lull him back to sleep.

*

Svetlana didn’t realize how good she had it. Yes, she’s a whore, yes she got plowed by random strangers for a living, but she still had it good. She had food and shelter for her fucking kid, she had everything she could ever possibly need or want, so why the fuck did she keep bothering Mickey?

Five hundred fucking bucks just so she wouldn’t say anything to Terry. Did she not fucking realize that if anything happened to Mickey, anything at all, her fucking kid was going to be homeless and possible orphaned? And if anything happened to Ian because of her… oh, there wouldn’t be a fucking place she could hide.

He managed to scrape together the money, by asking Ian to do something Mickey didn’t remotely like, and that bitch still had the audacity to ask him to come home. That place, that diseased hovel of a house, was not Mickey’s home anymore. The Russian whore may technically be his wife, but the marriage was a sham. Neither particularly _liked_ each other, she only wanted someone to dump her fucking kid on, and Mickey just had the misfortune of _maybe_ being the kid’s father.

After their fight in the bar, Mickey did go home, but only to pack his shit. He wasn’t gonna live under anyone’s fucking thumb anymore. Not Svetlana, not his fucking father, no one. He’s done being who he’s not, done being who everyone expected him to be, and even if he and Ian had to move to another fucking state, Mickey was not living in this house anymore.

Those plans came crashing down when he walked in on Mandy mopping up her face. He recalled Kenyatta leaving, furiously crashing into Mickey, ignoring the smaller boy’s question, but before he could ask Mandy if her piece of shit boyfriend hit her, his sister snarled, “What the fuck you looking at?” and slammed the door in his face.

At first, Mickey intended to track that piece of shit down, beat him to a fucking pulp, but Mickey weighed 150 wet. Kenyatta could probably kill him with one hand tied behind his back, and Mickey didn’t have a death wish anymore. He called Ian instead and told him what had happened.

“Bring her here,” Ian said without hesitation and Mickey agreed, making Mandy pack her shit before ushering out of the house.

*

Kevin fucking Ball would die a slow and painful death when Mickey got a hold of him. No one robbed a Milkovich with their own gun and got away with it. Too bad Ian had to be friends with Kev, following Mickey to his place, begging him not to kill the giant. Mickey tried to ignore the younger boy, but he found it increasingly difficult to do over the years. It still didn’t stop Mickey from trying.

His plan to kill Kevin came screeching to a halt when he found Mandy making Kenyatta lunch, defending the shithead like he hadn’t left a fist sized bruise around her eye. Mickey and Ian could probably take the piece of shit if he tried anything, but if Mandy were to throw herself between them that could be problematic.

Mickey’s not exactly sure how it happened, but one moment Ian’s trying to make Mandy leave and the next the redhead is holding a knife to Kenyatta’s throat. It’s that exact moment when all of Mickey’s worries came crashing over him again.

Obviously he knew something had been up with the younger boy, Mickey wasn’t stupid, but he had convinced himself it had been the drugs Ian had been taking, but this, right here, proved Mickey’s theory to be wrong because he knew Ian hadn’t taken any drugs. Something else was up.

No one wanted Kenyatta dead more than Mickey, but he did not want Ian to do it. He didn’t want Ian to kill anyone, so he calmly talked the younger boy down, managed to get him to drop the knife. He shoved him outside, demanding to know what was going on, and maybe Ian would have talked, maybe not, but his stupid fucking cell phone went off; something about Frank dying and getting married. Mickey didn’t know, but somehow he and Ian ended up going to the stupid fucking wedding.

*

“You love Mickey?” Mickey stopped, listening hard.

Ian didn’t say anything for a few seconds, but finally he said, “I like how he smells.” Whatever the fuck that meant.

Mickey pulled his pants on, zipping the fly and walking out of Ian’s room and into the bathroom. “What you asking stupid fucking questions for?”

“You were nicer when you were asleep,” Carl replied and then started talking about Frank. Mickey didn’t give a shit about him, so he tuned out the rest of the conversation until Carl had disappeared downstairs.

*

There hadn’t been an actual conversation detailing what he and Ian were, but somehow, possibly years ago, they had decided they were a couple. So, answering Ian’s question while holding the younger boy down on his bed, had been the very first time Mickey admitted to them being a couple.

It would have been a decent moment between the two boys, the words feeling right, but Ian had to ruin it by bringing up the fact that they were hiding their relationship. Mickey understood where Ian’s mind’s at, he really did, his last two (for lack of a better term) ‘relationships’ being with married men. But he failed to see that Mickey wasn’t staying with Svetlana out of love or devotion. He’s staying with her so Terry didn’t come after Ian.

Eventually Mickey left for the christening, neglecting to tell Ian that his father had been released from prison. The last thing he wanted was for Ian to have to deal with Terry. But Ian showed up to the stupid fucking thing, just like Mickey’s wedding, and he followed them to The Alibi.

“Tell your boyfriend to leave,” Svetlana said loud enough for anyone listening to hear her.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He wasn’t going to do this with her right now. He really needed her to shut the fuck up.

“Howdy Doody,” she responded glancing back at Ian. “Tell him to leave or I will.”

If Mickey had his way, he’d leave with Ian, but Terry’s on his way and he didn't want Svetlana talking to Ian, so he walked over to Ian. Their conversation could have gone better, but Mickey still managed to admit that his relationship with Ian made him free. Being with Ian made him want to try harder, be something other than a fucking thug, and it didn’t matter what his family thought just as long as he had Ian.

He probably would have said something close to that, just not as fucking girly, but Terry chose that moment to walk in, and Mickey quickly put on the good son act. It always came down to the good son act with Terry, and Mickey had long since grown tired of it.

*

“Hey, I just want you to know I’m leaving,” Ian said draining a shot of whiskey.

“Kay, I’ll see you back at the place,” Mickey replied lightly hitting Ian’s arm.

“No, don’t. We’re done.” Everything seemed to screech to a halt. Mickey couldn’t hear the commotion around him, his world revolving around those two words: we’re done. What the fuck did Ian mean they’re done? They had been fine this morning, and Mickey couldn’t even remember the last time they had a fight. So why, all of a sudden, was Ian breaking up with him?

“The fuck are you talking about?” Mickey asked softly, looking around to make sure no one was listening.

“I just don’t have any interest in being a mistress anymore.”

“Jesus Christ, when did you become so dramatic?”

“When I realized what a pussy you are,” Ian snarled his face contorting in anger.

“Say it again, I’m gonna kick your ass,” Mickey stated in irritation, but he knew it was an empty threat, and he knew Ian knew, too.

“Come on, big guy.” Ian moved towards Mickey, their face inches apart, and whispered, “You think you’re a tough man, but you’re not. You’re a coward.”

“Fuck you,” Mickey argued pushing Ian. “You don’t understand…”

“Oh I understand,” Ian continued as if Mickey hadn’t shoved him, “I understand better than anyone that you’re afraid of your father. You’re afraid of your wife. You’re afraid to be who you are.” Ian jabbed Mickey in the chest with his hand, turning to grab his coat.

“You know what, good, leave, what the hell do I care, bitch?” Mickey watched Ian walk away, flashing back to another time, another scenario very similar to this one, and Mickey could not just let Ian walk away again. He could not let that stubborn son-of-a-bitch walk out that door. It wasn’t happening, not again, but instead of chasing after Ian, instead of begging him to stay, Mickey did something that even he never expected to do.

“Fuck,” he whispered before slapping the bar, the music cutting off, the bar going completely silent. “Hey, excuse me, I’d like everybody’s attention please!” Mickey could tell his father probably thought he was making some sort of speech, and Terry wasn’t wrong, it just wasn’t about Svetlana's fucking kid. “I just want everybody here to know I’m fucking gay!"

*

Terry’s reaction didn’t surprise Mickey, in fact he expected it, but what did surprise Mickey was the cop letting him go, saying something about his husband Carlos. Apparently screaming about his sex life in front of a crowd of people had been like his own personal get out of jail free card.

After the cop walked away, Mickey jumped when his coat settled on his shoulders, turning to see Ian standing behind him, covered in blood. Together, they headed towards a couple of parked cars, taking a seat across from each other. Ronnie and his kid walked past, his uncle making some mocking observation about Mickey’s sexuality before walking away, but Mickey couldn’t worry about Ronnie right now.

He actually came out to his entire family. No, strike that, he came out to the entire Alibi. Which meant by tomorrow afternoon everyone on the south side would know, and he did it all for Ian fucking Gallagher. Mickey always thought he’d regret coming out, but after spending most of his life hiding who is was and who he chose to fuck (or get fucked by), it felt freeing to be out.

He wasn’t stupid, eventually some bigoted, homophobic asshole was going to come after him, but right that second, while sitting there with Ian, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He hadn’t lost Ian again, he hadn’t let him walk away, and that meant more to him than anything.

It meant something to Ian, too. Mickey could tell, and he leaned into the one armed hug the younger boy gave him, feeling the redhead press his lips against the side of his head. If they never had another good moment between them, Mickey would gladly remember this one.

*

They had one good week before everything came crashing down around them. Ian hadn’t gotten out of bed all day, and Mickey didn’t know what to fucking do, so he tracked down Lip. Or, at least he tried to, but instead he found Debbie and Carl.

Debbie told him she knew exactly what was going on with Ian, but she didn’t _tell_ him. And that frustrated Mickey more than anything, but he couldn’t exactly haul off and hit a kid, especially Ian's younger siblings. Debbie did promise to send Lip over the moment he came home tomorrow, and she and Carl left a little while afterwards, taking Liam with them.

Mickey spent the night sitting against his door, watching Ian, his room turning rapidly lighter as the sun began to rise. His eyes burned from lack of sleep, or maybe for other reasons, but he ignored the pain, pushing himself to his feet. He called Ian's name, hoping he’d respond, but the younger boy just stayed silent, unblinking eyes watching the wall, and Mickey sniffed, heading out of his room just as someone knocked.

He opened the door to find Fiona Gallagher standing outside.

*

Mickey is nineteen when he tells Fiona that, under no circumstance, are they checking Ian into a nut house. He’s telling her that they’ll take care of him, Ian’s fucking family. He’s screaming a lot of things, but one sentence sticks out among the rest: “Don’t fucking tell me what’s impossible.”

Mickey overcame some of the most impossible odds growing up. Hell, he had overcome some impossible hurdles a week ago. He didn’t need Ian’s sister to tell him about the impossible, he already fucking knew, and in his short life he had learned that nothing’s really impossible.

Not really.


End file.
